


i’m low on gas & you need a jacket

by problematic_pleasures



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 4+1 fic, Canon Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, Teensy bit smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 16:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8808640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/problematic_pleasures/pseuds/problematic_pleasures
Summary: four times negan gave carl his jacket—and one time (the first of many) carl took it for himself





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for an anon on tumblr who requested a fic about carl wearing negan's jacket!

 

**1**

Carl stares at the offering as though its owner has grown a second head. He pushes his hair back, out of his face, as though that will allow him to see what’s being offered any better. It doesn’t help, but it feels better to fidget than to do nothing.

“Kid, come on. Just take the fuckin’ thing.” Negan’s voice reeks of impatience, and his foot taps subtly but firmly on the dusty grown. “You’re freezing, and I’m not interested in fucking a popsicle tonight.” He shakes the jacket at Carl, for emphasis. “Hurry up.”

Carl caves after a nippy gust of wind whips past them. He snatches the leather jacket from Negan and slips into it without another protest. The jacket is far too big on him, practically swallows him whole, but it is warm, and smells like Negan. Zipping it up keeps the chill from biting at his skin, and the sleeves almost engulf his hands. He lets out a last shiver as warmth takes over his body, then he nods. “Thanks,” he says softly.

Negan seems startled by the appreciation—or, rather, startled by the quiet, genuine tone. He nods before taking Carl by the shoulder. He squeezes once, then uses his grip to haul Carl against his side. It makes walking a little awkward, their strides being so different, but it’s comfortable and better than walking even a few inches apart.

 

**2**

Carl stands off to the side, angry and tired and shirt torn to shreds, but he’s not backing down. He raises his fists, bandages from being bloodied a few dozen times before, and spits at the feet of his opponent. He jerks his head to knock his hair back; it puts his disfigured eye on display and he revels in the look of revulsion that flickers across his opponent’s face.

They move at the same time, Carl goes for a solid right hook to the ribs, his opponent aiming for an uppercut—

Before either of them can make contact, though, a sickening snap resounds. Carl freezes in his stance, punch half formed, and stares at the sudden gore before him. His opponent’s forearm is snapped, bleeding, bone jutting out. Two leather-gloved hands let go of the arm with a sickening squelch, and his opponent hisses in pain.

“Negan,” Carl starts, anger boiling in his gut.

Negan only holds up a hand, dripping with blood, to silence Carl. He doesn’t face his lover. Instead, he addresses Carl’s opponent first. “Don’t know where you got the crazy idea that this one,” Negan jerks a thumb toward Carl, “is up for grabs, but you’re dead wrong.”

Carl scowls.

Negan barks, “get!” The opponent, and the small crowd that had gathered, all scatter. Only once they’re alone does Negan turn his attention to Carl. “What the fuck were you thinkin’?” He peels off the blood-slick gloves and shoves them in the back pocket of his jeans. He leans down enough to meet Carl, eyes to eye.

“I was thinking I wanted to—?”

“Nope, save it,” Negan waves off the explanation. “No one, I mean not a _single_ fuckin’ person is to lay their hands on you, ‘cept for me.” He takes Carl by the chin. “Got it?”

Carl glares back, but replies, “got it.”

Satisfied, Negan stands up straight again before shrugging off his jacket. He passes it to Carl, who takes it after only a moment of hesitation. “You look damn ridiculous, cover yourself up,” Negan instructs when Carl only holds the jacket to his chest. He waits until Carl obeys before extending a hand to his younger lover. “C’mon, lemme clean you up.”

 

**3**

Carl wakes up when a heavy weight falls across his body. His senses are overwhelmed with heat, the scent of well-worn leather, and Negan’s sweat. He relaxes under the warmth, curling his legs up toward his chest to keep as much of his body covered. He sighs, content, startling again only when a hand drops gently on top of his head. Thick fingers tangle in his hair before smoothing over the knots. Carl grins, hidden beneath the jacket, listening as Negan hums pleasantly to himself.

 

**4**

A series of shouts, gunshots, and revving engines rouse Carl and Negan; the noise only grows, shouts evolving into hoots of perverse delight, all to the rhythmic groan of walkers. Negan is up and out of bed in an instant, wrestling his way into a tank top and grabbing Lucille from where she rests by the door. Carl is only a fraction slower, securing his belts through the loops of his pants and pausing to wonder where in the hell his shirt ended up.

“Carl!” Negan barks. “Just, grab my jacket, fuck, c’mon.” He jerks his head toward the open door. He waits for Carl to grab Negan’s leather jacket where it’s draped across a chair. Once Carl’s bare chest is covered by thick, black leather, Negan grabs a handful of Carl’s hair.

They kiss, harsh and biting, far too quick. Negan pulls back. “Damn you look good in that thing, kid,” Negan breathes. A crash from outside interrupts their moment. “Let’s go bash some skulls, huh?”

Carl grins.

 

**+1**

Negan looks up from his dinner and very nearly drops his fork. “Been diggin’ through my stuff, huh?”

Carl just grins, tilts his head, long brown hair cascading over his shoulders. The leather sticks to his skin in the heat, and the zipper hits his sensitive skin like electric shocks, but it’s worth it for the look on his lover’s face.

Negan sets his fork down gently, wipes his mouth just like his ma taught him, then stands. He walks up to Carl and slips his hands inside the jacket, seeking out the bare skin underneath. “God _damn_.” Negan’s voice is colored with reverence. His eyes rake along Carl’s body with open greed. His gaze settles on Carl’s exposed groin, his stiff prick protruding from a curly patch of hair. Precome beads at the tip, translucent and thick.

Carl pushes his hips forward. He lays his hands over Negan’s and squeezes. He licks his lips and meets Negan’s gaze, one that’s bright with the intent to absolutely _devour_ him.

Negan’s grip tightens and he lifts Carl with ease, hands on Carl’s ass, caressing. He laughs as Carl’s arms and legs wind around his body. He walks toward the bed and lays Carl out first before crawling over his body and pressing him against the bed. “Feel free to steal this any time,” Negan suggests as he plucks at the collar. He shoves his jeans down his thighs, then his underwear, then ruts his hard cock against Carl’s.

Carl, despite the way his heart hammers in his chest with lust and affection and heat, puts up an impatient expression. “Hurry up before I die of heat stroke in this thing,” he retorts.

Negan just laughs again, shaking his head fondly.

 


End file.
